


The Vow of Two

by Cott



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Young!MCU cast, mainly from Iron Man 1/2 and the Doctor Strange solo movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15175175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cott/pseuds/Cott
Summary: After his stepfather dies from a suspicious car crash, Tony receives a surprise that turns his world upside down.When his sister dies in an unfortunate vacation, Stephen is forced to make a choice that plunges him into a whole new world.Two demigods.Two legacies.One prophecy.A Percy Jackson series/Marvel Cinematic Universe crossover.





	1. TONY

**Author's Note:**

> I might rewrite this later with more characters and deeper plot points, but as of now, this story will be focused on the two as they grow up in the PJ universe. Tony is 13 when the story starts(2005. 11); Stephen is four years younger than him. The story will show fragments of their life throughout the PJO&HoO series, ending with the battle against Gaea.  
> It's been a while since I read the books, so my sincere apologies for any mistakes I make concerning the PJ series throughout this work. I'll try to do my best with the wikia.
> 
> Updates will be really, really slow because real life is being a bitch and I have an important test coming up in a few months, so bear with me, guys. Love ya all<3 As always, thanks a million for the kudos and comments!
> 
> Pay attention to the use of the word 'vow'.

In movies, funerals were always drenched in raindrops that seemed to mourn the dead. Howard Stark’s service was held on a bright, sunny autumn day. Tony woodenly watched an uncharacteristically solemn Obadiah Stane give the eulogy. The whole process still felt unreal, probably more so because of the way Howard Stark died. His stepfather, in spite of being admittedly not that close to him, was still his father, and his death was interspersed with unresolved questions. Streaks that suspiciously looked like claw marks decorated the frame of the crashed car, and some kind of fur from an unknown animal was found in the backseat. Why did the police close the case as a simple car crash when it clearly wasn't? The evidence was right in front of their noses. Questions kept popping up in his head. Deep in contemplation, he was rooted to the spot until the coffin was levered into the ground and covered with soil. He looked back a final time as his mother led him to the car waiting for them, vowing to find out the real reason behind the death of his father; the least he could do for the dead man. But first…

 

“Mother.”

 

As soon as they arrived at the doorstep of the Malibu mansion, Tony faced his mother, holding up several pictures he had DUM-E the spycam secretly take under the forensics’ nose. The evidence that he had found were clearly shown in them. Setting them down on the nearest table, he tried to calm his trembling voice and took a deep breath. Somehow, the shock and numbness from the past several days were only engulfing him now, and that made his heart ache so that he couldn't breathe. Even when he had suitably calmed down, his voice got gradually shakier and bigger as he spoke.

 

“The edges of some of the glass shards matched. When pieced together, they look like a hook, or something similarly sharp had torn them apart. Mother, Father was attacked. _Attacked!_ This isn't an accident, why—”

 

His mother shushed him, looking around as if afraid of being seen, and dragged him to the master bedroom. Only when they reached their destination did she exhale, slamming the door behind her and locking it. Tony sat on the edge of the bed and watched her pace the room, patiently waiting for her to calm down. Maria Stark was a strong woman, and something serious must have come up for her to act like this. When she finally came to a stop in front of him, her face was set, determination hardening her features.

 

“Tony, what do you know about Greek mythology?” she asked. Tony was caught off guard; that wasn't what he had expected. He wanted answers, not more riddles that made the situation more complicated. When he told her that, his mother gave him a tired, but fond smile. The tale she narrated to him afterwards was a fall-in-love story of her and his birth father, but one with treks through fantastic places and magical isles. When her story was finished, Tony stared at her, disbelief etched upon his face.

 

“So I'm, what, a hybrid?” He let out a hysterical laugh, dropping his head in his hands. “And I'm supposed to believe that? I'm the son of—of some Greek god? Mother, this is the twenty-first century, if gods existed they would've interfered in this world long ago.”

 

His mother crossed her arms. “Anthony Edward Stark, I know you've been programming and reconfiguring all your projects in Ancient Greek using Pascal since you were ten.” She held up a hand when Tony opened his mouth to refute her. “No, don't. I've heard that demigod brains are hardwired for Ancient Greek. And your ADHD, that’s a typical demigod trait. The gods _have_ been interfering; World War II was a fight between children of Zeus and Poseidon on one side and the children of Hades on the other.”

 

“But then, if this is all true, why haven't we noticed supernatural incidents happening all over the world? People are bound to notice if some kind of mythical creature decides to appear on your doorstep or something like that.”

 

“There's something called the Mist that prevents mortals from seeing those kind of things. You could say that those clawmarks were simply something an especially sharp rock left. The fur might be invisible to them for all I know. Do you remember the incident at the zoo?”

 

Tony sighed. “It was a lizard with _two heads_ , Mother, for god’s sake. Could nobody see that?”

 

“Tony, that was the _amphisbaena_ , the Mother of Ants. Others just saw a normal lizard. That's how the Mist works. You perceive far more that what ordinary mortals do.”

 

He stared at his mother, mouth open in disbelief. A mythological creature had been shut in a zoo? Just how deep did this go? His whole world was being upended with this new information. Naturally, he wondered about his father; when he asked his mother, though, she refused to tell him. I can't tell you, she said. Apparently he had to find out himself. There was just one more thing he was curious about.

 

“How do you know all this?”

 

“I had… a source. He requested anonymity; don't try to look into that particular part. But Tony, you have to believe this. The world has far more layers of myths and magic than what you currently see.”

 

—•—

 

Several days later, Tony was fixing DUM-E when the front door of the mansion opened, Obadiah Stane’s voice echoing through the halls. His mother met the man at the doorsteps, whispering with him until she saw Tony. He was soon shooed into his room, as the adults had to ‘talk’. It didn't matter, as he'd planted bugs in most of the rooms of the house since he learned how to make them. As soon as he got to his room, he turned the main volume control up so he could pinpoint where they were talking, then sat back, picking up spare parts for DUM-E. Soon, two voices came from bug #5: the one in the lounge. Dropping DUM-E with a tinkle, Tony scrambled to put his headphones on, simultaneously raising the volume of the particular bug. Apparently there was a camp in Manhattan that kids like Tony went to. Did he know what Tony really was? A half-god, half-human? Was _Obadiah_ one, too? While the two adults kept talking, Tony stored the information in his brain. Upon hearing Obadiah suggesting to send him to this camp, though, his train of thought stuttered to a halt.

 

“But wouldn't he be safer if he stayed here?” His mother argued. “We have the proper forces to guard him if something happens that might put his life in jeopardy.”

 

“Maria,” rumbled Obadiah, “I know these monsters. I've fought them in my youth; they won't give up unless you fight back. And using modern technology attracts them like mad. Do you know how many monsters I had to repel from this mansion? Over two hundred since Tony started to make things. If he goes to the camp he'll be able to get a certain amount of control over the beacon signal that his blood is, like I did.”

 

Their voices faded from Tony’s ears as he struggled to comprehend what he had just heard. His use of tech attracted monsters? His blood did so too? Then, was his father’s death his fault? And did he just say that _he fought the monsters in his youth_? Now it was officially confirmed: Obadiah was also a demigod like him. But, setting that apart, did he really cause the death of Howard Stark? Guilt threatened to consume him; if he was a danger to his father, then his mother’s life was also in peril. Should he go to this camp? He was so absorbed in his broodings that he almost failed to notice the knocking on his bedroom door. The insistent voice of his mother jerked him to reality, and he quickly put away his bugging devices before opening the door.

 

“Working on a secret project?” His mother took a long look at the scattered parts of DUM-E before addressing him, saying that she had a suggestion to make, one that he probably wouldn't like but was possibly a must for him. As Tony had expected, it was about the camp. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself, though, so he decided to ease her worries by agreeing to her terms first. His mother looked surprised, then embraced him in a bear hug.

 

“You'll come back every fall,” she murmured in his ear, “and Jarvis and I will be there for you. Just, just stay there for this winter, okay? And then it can be yearly visits.”

 

Tony nodded, his throat closing up. Facing his mother often made him emotional for no reason; moreso after his father’s death. While he tried to control his wayward emotions, she brought out a packet that was decorated with little engravings of hammers.

 

“A gift from your father,” she said, pressing it into his hand. When Tony opened it with slightly trembling hands, a shiny new revolver and a leather holster fell out of it. It was faintly glowing, the body made out of a metal unlike anything he had seen until now. He turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship of the gun, until he noticed that the cylinder was already loaded. The initial surprise almost made him drop it, but as he held it, he got the feeling that the bullets were just slots for more ‘modes’, to say. Deciding to try it out later, he slipped the gun inside the holster, strapping it to the inside of his jacket.

 

“Mother, I think I need shooting practice.”

 

Two weeks later, after all the legal proceedings following his father’s death were wrapped up, Tony held a bundle of winter clothes in his hand as he took a long look at the mansion. He had this strange feeling in his gut that this would be the last time seeing his home for a long while. While his mother and Jarvis fussed over his luggage, his gaze met Obadiah’s eyes. Was that triumph he could see in them? Before he could properly distinguish what he had seen, the large man came over and thumped him on the back, bidding him farewell. Shaking hands with the man and giving his mother a last goodbye hug, Tony boarded the aircraft and put his headset on. The two pilots in the front gave him thumbs-up as they started to rise up into the sky.

 

The ride to Manhattan was unnervingly peaceful. Tony fiddled with the prototype automaton he started working on a few days ago. He'd read up on Greek Mythology during the past few weeks, and was fairly certain that his father was either Hephaestus or Hermes. Of course, it could be someone completely unexpected, like Dionysus. Or even Poseidon. Or some kind of minor god. While he pondered the possibilities, Long Island drew closer and closer. As he stared out of the window, Tony heard a strange hissing sound from the cockpit. When he shouted out if everything was okay there, no answers came; instead, both pilots started muttering in a low voice.

 

“The smell of demigod is enticing.”

“Too enticing.”

 

The hissing became louder. As Tony looked on, horrified, both heads turned slowly, their eyes lighting up like bulbous orbs. The two spoke together, their voices blending into one.

 

“Anthony Stark. Child of the Prophecy of Two. This shall be your grave.”

 

Before Tony had a chance to react, two bodies became one as grey mist began to roll off their forms, making up a giant ghostly _thing_ that was twice the size of the pilot. _Shit._ Tony plunged a hand into his jacket, scrabbling for the present from his father. As soon as he found it, he pulled it out, checked the cylinder, and fired it in one smooth move. The bullet exploded in front of the spirit, engulfing it in steel webbings that tackled it, compressing it into a hand-sized ball that clicked shut once it absorbed the essence. _That was almost too easy._ Tony let out a sigh and picked up the ball from the ground. However, as the craft jerked and started listing to one side, he realised that the aircraft was now without a pilot.

 

Tony slipped the ball and revolver inside his jacket, then lunged for the handle and held on to it, desperately trying to keep the helicopter in the air. Operating it was probably out of his league, but it was try or die. Instinct directed him to pull levers and push buttons, managing the altitude and whatever he needed to do; he didn't know what he was exactly doing. However, something must have been broken when he captured the spirit, because even after all his efforts, the helicopter unsteadily dropped several more feet until it touched the ground.

 

Landing was rough, the craft bumping along the beach several times until creaking to a stop. Tony groaned from the impact, his body having been thrown around the cockpit. He was sure part of his ribs had cracked due to the way they had been mercilessly smashed against the dashboard. “Well, this wasn't how I imagined my first impression to be,” he muttered, disembarking from the smoking helicopter and stumbling to the ground, assessing his surroundings. There was a giant pine tree far up a hill, with people in orange T-shirts streaming over the top. _So they must be some of the campers Obadiah mentioned_ . Most of them made a beeline to the wrecked helicopter. Watching them, he raised his hand to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, which came away slick with blood. Panicking a bit, Tony took a step forward only for his knees to fail him, falling face first into the sand. _Damn it_ , he thought as consciousness slowly slipped away from his grasp.

 

—•—

 

The next time he opened his eyes, he was thankfully lying in a bed. Looking down, he saw bandages crisscrossing his torso; as he had suspected, his ribs were probably broken. As he tried to get a hold on his bearings, his eyes landed on a pile of cubes on his bedside table. They were on a plate as if they were food. Wondering if he was supposed to eat them, Tony turned his head to see a man with the lower body of a white stallion kindly smiling down at him. He looked like a man in his thirties, maybe early forties, but Tony couldn't erase the feeling that he was far, far older that he seemed to be. Ancient, even. The centaur introduced himself as Chiron, and Tony instantly remembered the name from one of the books he had read on mythology.

 

“You're that teacher in the legends? The teacher of heroes, like Hercules and such? I'm sorry, but how are you still alive?”

 

Chiron smiled. “I see you've been brushing up on your origins. Yes, I am _that_ Chiron; I was granted immortality by Zeus to do what you just told me: train heroes. This camp has been the only safe haven for demigod heroes since almost three millennia ago.”

 

“Three millennia?” Tony had to remind himself to shut his mouth. He knew that the camp was old, but he hadn't expected it to be _that_ old. “You've been here for that much time? On Long Island?”

 

“As the center of power shifts, our source of power shifts too. What you call ‘Western civilisation’ is a living force which the gods of Olympus are a part of. The fire first started in Greece. Then, as centuries passed, it moved to Rome, Germany, England—and now, to America. For example, right now Mt. Olympus is on the top of the Empire State Building. This camp has also relocated several times too.”

 

As Tony opened his mouth to ask more questions, a stabbing pain shot through his head, reminding him of his injuries. Chiron offered him the plate of cubes when Tony clutched at his head, teeth clenched from the pain. At the centaur’s insist, Tony tentatively put one in his mouth. It tasted like cheeseburgers, the kind that his father would disapprove of when he sometimes asked Jarvis to buy some. It brought a smile to his face before he remembered that he was not eating a real cheeseburger, and that the pain in his chest had considerably receded. He didn't realise he had wondered aloud what it was until Chiron spoke in a calm voice.

 

“Ambrosia, food of the gods and a healing factor for demigods. But if you eat too much you might become feverish, so I advise you against consuming more than you already did.”

 

Starting, Tony put down the fifth piece he had unconsciously been reaching for. Chiron smiled, setting the platter to one side and leaning forward to meet Tony’s eyes.

 

“Now, can you tell me how you got here? Because none of us had expected the heir to Stark Industries to be a demigod. We were all quite surprised when your helicopter arrived yesterday. The authorities have been spoken to,” he held up a hand as Tony started to speak. “They have been convinced that there were no passengers and the pilot, an unnamed mortal, is deceased. Your luggage, or at least what we could find, is currently at the feet of your bed.”

 

Tony looked down; most of what he had brought here had been salvaged, with the exception of the bag with several prototype machines and DUM-E’s spare parts. At least he could rebuild them if there was enough metal to forge the missing elements. Thinking of spare parts led him to Obadiah; when he asked Chiron if he knew the man, Chiron made a face as he answered.

 

“Obadiah Stane… Yes, I remember him. Son of Ares, but crafty enough to be considered a child of Athena. Quite ruthless when he has a goal. Why do you ask of him?”

 

“Seeing as he sent me here with a pilot who was a monster in disguise, I suspect he planned to kill me. I want to know if he displayed the same tendencies here, and what I need to do to get back at him. Oh, and if I really attract monsters by using tech like he said.”

 

“Ah, so that was why the helicopter crashed.” Chiron nodded as if a great mystery had been solved. “I guess he would be in his forties, no fifties now? He could be brutal, even for a child of Ares, and would never stop until he got what he wanted. As for the use of technology, you've been lied to. Most demigods draw more monsters once they realise what they are. Calling may be dangerous; the use of tech, not so. Getting—”

 

“Chiron? Is the boy awake?”

 

Chiron’s explanation was cut off when a chubby man with a red nose poked his head in the room. He was wearing a tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt that accented his purplish-black hair. Tony's first impression of the man was that of a junky; the watery, bloodshot eyes were the icing on the cake. His first words asking who the man was, accordingly, were tinted with just a little bit of suspicion. Chiron glanced at the man as if to convey some kind of information. Possibly about Tony's knowledge of his heritage, because the junky-lookalike man harrumphed and muttered something like _finally_ under his breath.

 

“I am Dionysus, the god of wine and parties. Sony Mark, eh? You may call me Mr. D.” The pudgy man sniffed. He had an air of disdain around him, as if he knew exactly who Tony was and didn't give a damn about it. Tony curled his lips. He didn't care if this man was a god, he wasn't going to stand by and let the man insult him.

 

“Yeah, and my name is Tony Stark, not Sony Mark. I would think a god to be above such petty things than to call people wrong names just because he doesn't like them.”

 

“Watch your tongue, young man. I might just turn you into my newest collection of Diet Coke.” Mr. D’s voice took on a darker tone. Chiron hurriedly stepped in between the two, saying that Tony had a story to tell them, didn't he? Secretly glad that he had avoided a fight, Tony calmed down and narrated his father's death and the events that had happened afterwards, pulling out the orb in which the spirit was held captive in. He didn't exactly trust the two enough to show his father's present to them, so he had to improvise on that point. When he got to the part where the pilots spoke, Chiron stopped him with a frown.

 

“We haven't seen new prophecies in a while. Maybe you heard it wrong?”

 

“No, it said that I was the child of the Prophecy of Two. What exactly does that mean? And what is that thing inside the ball?” He pointed to the metal ball sitting on his bedside table. Mr. D snatched the ball up and shook it mercilessly, eliciting a small scream from the inside.

 

“That would be a particularly malevolent _eidolon_. Whatever that thing is made of, boy, the forger was a skilled one to be able to harness a spirit as violent as that one.” Mr. D hummed, spinning the ball in his hand. “This reminds me of Pokémon,” he muttered. “Let's see if it really does act like that.”

 

The ball was tossed into the air before either Tony or Chiron could interfere; it opened mid-throw, summoning the ghost that Tony had previously captured, only with chains restraining it, shackling it to the ball and a mouthpiece silencing its shrieks. The three stared at the struggling spirit before Mr. D stood up, purple energy crackling around him, and ordered the _eidolon_ to shut up lest it be blasted to Tartarus. Surprisingly, the silent screams quieted down until it was floating in the air, seemingly subdued. The aura around Mr. D dissipated as he sat down on the chair.

 

“Try that one more time and I will personally see you fall to the pits of the Underworld. Now, will you behave and tell us why you attacked Rory boy here?”

 

The eidolon nodded so fast that its head was almost a blur. Tony's protests about his name were ignored as Mr. D reached out and took the mouthpiece away from the spirit. Once it was free, it took a great gasp of air like a human would do. Then, as if it remembered that it was dead, shut its mouth and tried to look serious. When asked its name, though, the faux seriousness melted away as anger twisted his features.

 

“My name is Ivan Vanko,” it hissed. “Your father, Howard Stark, took my father, Anton Vanko's work, and my father had to go rogue! This is all his fault!” The spirit lunged at Tony, but the chains ensnaring it prevented it from coming near to him. Mr. D, looking vaguely irritated, waved his hand and the chains got tighter, wrapping itself around the _eidolon_ ’s neck. Tony watched the transaction with both horror and fascination; the god conjured a goblet filled with Diet Coke and took a sip from it as he studied the _eidolon_.

 

“Whose orders were you under?”

 

“From no—” Mr. D did something with his hand that Tony had no idea what it was, but the spirit started crumbling until it gasped out answers. “My orders were from Stane,” it choked out. “He promised me revenge, and I deserve it!”

 

“Your revenge should be aimed at the deceased man, not his son,” Chiron intervened, his voice hard like iron. “A vengeful spirit has no place at this camp. Begone!” He pulled out a bronze sword and the spirit gasped, trying to back up. Tony noticed that the sword had the same glow as his gun-thing had as Chiron ran it through the _eidolon_. The spirit turned to ash and crumbled away, leaving nothing behind.

 

“Celestial Bronze,” Chiron said as he sheathed the sword. “The metal harms monsters and demigods, but not ordinary mortals. Standard demigod weaponry is made from it.”

 

Mr. D muttered something about hearing the same thing again and left, his complaints on a ruined pinochle game and that Chiron owes him another one fading as he disappeared. Chiron sighed and turned to Tony.

 

“As for the prophecy… Demigods with specific prophecies concerning them have often left their names in history. On the other hand, most of their fates were tragic, but we’ll  talk about that later. First things first, let's meet the other campers and get you set up in Cabin eleven. Can you stand?”

 

Tony felt at his chest. It didn't hurt like it had first did, and his head was a whole lot better. He nodded, swinging his legs off the bed and getting into his shoes. When he tried to stand, though, the world spun and he grabbed at the bedpost to steady himself. Chiron clip-clopped his hooves with an air of worry.

 

“If you don't feel well—”

 

“No, I'm okay. I can walk.” Straightening up, Tony regained his balance and picked up his luggage, following the centaur as he stepped out of the building. They walked slowly, passing by a volleyball pit and strawberry fields. Chiron explained the existence of the fields; their cover was Delphi Strawberry Service, and Mr. D’s powers helped immensely with their sales, as most fruit-bearing plants grew like crazy whenever the god was around.

 

“We could do better with wine grapes, as that is his specialty, but he's banned from growing those since he went chasing a wood nymph who was off-limits. The first time he angered his father it caused the Prohibition era; this is the second time. Thankfully his father decided to punish him another way.”

 

“His father. Zeus?” Tony guessed. Thunder rolled across the clear sky as the word left his mouth. Chiron winced.

 

“Names are not things to be lightly said, Tony. The gods have ears… Now there's Cabin eleven.”

 

The two stood in front of a cabin with a caduceus over the doorway. The building looked old, with some of the paint peeling and a worn-down threshold. Tony racked his brain to remember what god was in possession of the staff.

 

“Hermes?”

 

“Very good, Tony. The cabins are divided on account of the campers’ godly parents: most cabins house the children of their patron gods. Cabin eleven, whose patron god is Hermes, takes all newcomers and undetermined demigods.”

 

“So it's like _Harry Potter_. You get sorted into different houses—well, cabins—depending on your godly birth parent.”

 

“You could say that, though the cabins are decided by bloodline. Now, let's get you settled.”

 

Chiron opened the door to the cabin. The inside was filled with campers, sleeping bags strewn over the floor to accommodate everyone. When they saw Chiron, everyone stood up and bowed to the centaur with respect while some of them eyed Tony as if they knew him.

 

“Cabin eleven, Tony Stark. Tony, cabin eleven.”

 

“Regular or undetermined?” Someone asked from the back. When Chiron said undetermined, the whole cabin groaned. Still, there were muted whispers after Chiron announced his name. Chiron pointed out an empty space, patted his back then left to oversee a wrestling match between the Demeter kids and Apollo’s children. Tony was left alone with his suitcase in one hand, feeling very lost for the first time in his life. He took a look at the crowded cabin and heaved a sigh, thinking of his spacious room back at home. Be that as it may, this was his life now, so he grudgingly dragged his luggage to the spare spot he had been directed to and began unpacking. The chatter in the cabin died down as all eyes turned to the newcomer and his obviously expensive belongings. Just as some of the campers started to advance on Tony, the cabin door burst open and a girl with her arm in a sling skidded in, drawing everybody's attention.

 

“Guys! Ares got a fight going on with Athena!”

 

At her words, the whole cabin emptied in seconds. The girl than turned to Tony, introducing herself as Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, daughter of Hermes. She had strawberry-blonde hair and a necklace with a single bead around her neck. Tony gave her a wan smile in response, already tired from the day’s happenings. He wondered if her arrival was timed or was completely coincidental. Either way, she had saved him from whatever the kids had been trying to do, so he said his thanks to her.

 

“Uh, no problem. Actually, Chiron asked me if I could show you around camp, get a feel of what life here feels like. So… you coming?”

 

“Just a second.” Tony hurriedly tidied his half-packed suitcase, just in case the campers  came back before he did and decided to pilfer his belongings. Pepper led him to see the metal shop (which he took an instant liking to), and stopped in front of two gigantic walls that some campers were trying to scale. As Tony looked on, the walls kept drawing closer and tried to drop boulders on the especially slow ones.

 

“Is that real lava?”

 

“Of course. We don't do things by half. The forest over there is stocked with monsters if you want to go look for a challenge or brush up on your skills. And that's the arts-and-crafts room…”

 

Soon, they were on the road back to cabin eleven. Tony kept a fast pace; his legs were already getting wobbly, and he wanted to _rest_. “So, all this training, where does it lead to? And what if we have to go up against a team of them and need strategy?”

 

“You'll see. Capture-the-flag is tomorrow, so we'll see if—oh! That's our counsellor, Luke.”

 

Tony looked up to see a tall sandy-haired guy in an orange T-shirt leaning on the cabin door. He had an confident air about him; from the way he stood to how he smiled suggested that he was a person with weight to throw around when needed. He also had a scar across his face, slightly marring his looks. He had the same bead necklace around his neck but four more compared to Pepper.

 

“So, new camper, eh? The name’s Luke Castellan. And you are?”

 

“Tony Stark. Nice to meet you.” He stuck out a hand, expecting a handshake, which the older boy gladly accepted. Was it him, or was the handshake a bit stronger than normal? Tony chalked it down to overreaction when Luke gave him a friendly grin.

 

“The famous heir to Stark Industries! Welcome to cabin eleven. I would've greeted you earlier, but counselor duties and all that. Pepper, have you been showing him around? Does your arm feel better?”

 

Pepper brightened up. “Yep! Chiron said that I can take it off in a few days. Did you see the fight, Luke? How'd it go?”

 

“Chiron broke it up; some of the Athena kids have nasty-looking wounds, but Ares got more than they deserved. I'm sure they won't bother cabin six in the next few weeks. Well, finish up with the tour, because dinner is in an hour and I expect both of you to be in the cabin by then.”

 

“Aye, sir!” Pepper saluted Luke as he went off to round up the other Hermes campers. As Tony turned to observe the other cabins, something caught his eye. The first three cabins all looked empty, as did the eighth one. He had a distinct idea whose cabins they were, but it didn't stop him from asking Pepper about their patron gods and if they held no campers.

 

“Well, the queen of gods doesn't run around having kids with mortals. Cabin eight, Artemis, swore to be a maiden for eternity. And for the two other ones, the Lord of the Dead doesn't have a cabin here, and there was a pact after World War II between the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, Hades—not to sire any more children. That's why those cabins are empty; they've upheld the pact, at least until now.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I heard that Zeus broke it, because that tree on the hill, that's supposed to be a daughter of Zeus. She’s said to have sacrificed her life to save two other demigods and a satyr, and that's why the hill is called Half-Blood Hill.”

 

“Zeus turned his daughter into a pine tree?” Tony repeated, horrified at the prospect. Thunder rumbled overhead. Pepper nervously glanced at the sky before answering.

 

“By doing that, her spirit still lives on in the tree, protecting the camp from monsters and such. If the Lord of the Sky hadn't done that, she would be dead.”

 

A chill ran down Tony's back. He could've shared her fate if it wasn't for the revolver in his jacket. As he unconsciously patted the weapon, Chiron galloped to them, beaming when he saw the two of them together. “Ah, Tony. Just the man I was looking for. Thank you, Pepper, I'll take him from here.”

 

When Pepper skipped off to find her cabinmates, Chiron turned to face Tony. “I'd forgotten to metion this; we're going to start classes to determine your heritage tomorrow. First you'll have to learn the language—”

 

“I'm quite fluent in Ancient Greek, thank you very much. DUM-E here is actually programmed based on Greek.” Just to prove his point, he called the spycam in Greek to take a picture of Chiron. The little bot buzzed up, snapped a picture of a startled Chiron and flew over to Tony, holding up his memory chip excitedly. After an exasperated _No, DUM-E, I told you to take a picture not give me the chip_ from Tony, he dejectedly settled down on the table. Chiron watched the exchange with great interest.

 

“It uses both languages?”

 

“DUM-E has a internal translator that enables him to understand English and Greek, though the base language he operates on—Pascal—is Greek. Anyway, I think I can skip that particular lesson. What else is there?”

 

“Archery, canoeing, foot racing, wrestling, forgery, et cetera. There’s the wall, too, which I assume Pepper has shown you?”

 

“And the arena. Do we actually fight there? Using real swords?”

 

“You have to survive, Tony; this is a question of survival, not want. Of course we use real swords. Am I right to believe that you do not have your own sword and shield?”

 

Should he tell Chiron? Part of his mind wanted to keep it a secret. But if he was going to train, he might as well use the weapon he was given. Tony drew the revolver from its sheath, spinning the cylinder to sword mode. The gun shimmered in his hand, the barrel elongating and the hammer changing to form a firm handle decorated with elaborate golden studs. Chiron stared at the thing in his hand.

 

“That… I've never seen a weapon like yours. But how did you get it?”

 

“It was a present. From my father. Er, godly father.” Tony reluctantly handed the sword to Chiron when he requested to see it. The centaur turned it over in his hands, admiring the balance and design of the blade.

 

“Unless some other god had it commissioned, I think we can safely assume that your weapon was made by Hephaestus. Only the god of blacksmiths and fire could forge such a useful tool. Does it have a name?”

 

“Mm.” Tony mentally went over his Greek vocabulary. “I think I'm going to name it… Poikílos.”

 

Later that night, after the rather confusing dinner (they had to scrape a bit of their dinner in the fire) and Mr. D’s attempt to introduce Tony to the camp, the campers all went down to the amphitheater to have a campfire. Just as Apollo’s cabin was starting on a song, an ugly scream arose from the cabins. Everybody fell silent, with the senior campers drawing their weapons. They fell in a line behind Chiron, who led the counselors to the source of the scream. A kid stumbled out from cabin eleven, cradling his hand as the other campers crowded around him.

 

“It _burned_ me!” He moaned, showing Chiron a red line on his hand. Tony winced when he saw the clean trace; he'd forgotten to tune down the anti-theft mode off in his earlier haste to leave the cabin. When Chiron asked the sniffling boy whose trunk he was trying to steal from, he miserably pointed at Tony, who was unfortunately at the front line.

 

“Look, I'm sorry I forgot to fine-tune the system on my suitcase, but I had to leave early and… what are you all staring at?”

 

Tony looked up to see a symbol swirling above his head, lighting up the nearby air. A red, fiery hammer burned bright, illuminating the other campers’ faces. Chiron called out that the bloodline was determined.

 

“Hail, Anthony Edward Stark, son of Hephaestus.”


	2. STEPHEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen discovers a new world by chance, but one that is preceded by despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I didn't expect this update to take this long. Sorry for the long interval... But I can't promise the next chapter will come up faster; only 111 days left until my life gets decided by one test. As always, thanks a millioin for kudos/comments!  
> *Warning: Mentions of drowning/child abuse/parental fights
> 
> **If you wish to contact me outside of AO3, my Twitter account is @cottonyst_satz.

The Blake-Strange annual family vacation always ended up on a Californian beach. No matter how much his parents promised him that they would set another course, their final destination was always the same. Ten-year-old Stephen did NOT appreciate visiting the same place for three years straight. Apparently his parents disagreed, seeing as they were once again on the same road to the beach. He wanted to complain, but once he met his little sister’s eyes, the words crumbled to nothing in his mouth.

Donna Blake, age five, was the main reason he grudgingly followed every single family vacation even though he had the choice not to. She was born after his mother remarried, so technically she was his half-sister, but he loved her to death. Who wouldn't? She was perfect as a five-year-old could possibly be. Unfortunately, as much as Stephen loved her and she returned the sentiment, she loved the sea, too. And that was why they were on their way to the beach.

When they got to their destination, Stephen stayed under the parasol instead of going into the clear water like his sister. There was a scientific journal he had picked up a few days before and he was determined to finish it during the trip. As he took the bookmark out and picked up from where he last left off, a chopping noise overhead made him look up.

A helicopter was flying over their heads. He could see the mark ' _Stark Industries_ ' engraved into its side. After the CEO's untimely death, the heir to the business empire had gone missing last year; or so he had heard. He never had been interested in the world of business and whatnot. Stephen stared at the helicopter as it circled overhead, heading to the company's headquarters. Still, if he remembered correctly, the boy was only four years older than him. He couldn't imagine what would be going through the mother's mind, losing her husband and son in such a short time.

As Stephen watched the helicopter go on its way, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The waves were receding, suddenly far calmer than they usually were. He'd learned about this, something related to the earth changing? His memory evaded him like it was teasing him. He looked around to see his parents, but only his father was in his sight. Where did mom go? As he craned his neck to see where she had disappeared to, his father got back from where he had been playing with Donna.

“Stephen, stay here, alright? I'm going to get some chips from the vendor. I won't be long, so just watch your sister for a second,” he ruffled Stephen’s hair and jogged to the vendor. Stephen watched him go with a sudden sense of trepidation. Something was very, very wrong. And of course that was when the earthquake struck. 

The ground shook, people screaming in terror as they tried to get out of the beach. Stephen paid no attention to the pandemonium as he searched for his sister midst the crowd, and saw something far more terrifying than he had expected. His sister was getting dragged out to the open sea by the waves, and Stephen’s mind stuttered to a halt as he zoned in, focusing on the helpless figure being swept away by the waves.

“Donna? _Donna!_ _DONNA!_ ”

Stephen tossed his journal to one side and ran into the sea. He ran and ran, calling for his sister, _his Donna,_ even forgetting to call their parents in his haste. The water soon became deeper, though, and the waves were equally cruel to him as they had been to his baby sister. The pressure on his ribcage grew and grew until he himself was splashing around helplessly, reaching for a sister he could no longer see….

 

—•—

 

When he woke up, a white ceiling greeted him with a certain chill. _Beep, beep_ went the machine to his side, measuring his heartbeat. What had happened? His head felt fuzzy, like his brain had turned into mush overnight. Turning his head, he caught sight of his mother nodding off on a plastic hospital chair, and upon seeing her memories came crashing down in his mind, the desperate cries of his sister echoing in his ears.

“Mom?”

Stephen’s voice came out raspy, like it was being rubbed against sandpaper. At his call, his mother jerked awake, turning to face him.

“Mom, is Donna okay?”

His hope shattered to pieces when he finally took in her blotchy face, the way she was struggling to hold her emotions together, and his father's notable absence. Voice wobbling and threatening to break, he asked her again and again, _where's Donna, mom, where is she,_ and his mother just shook her head, dropping her head in her hands. Stephen didn't notice the heart monitor beeping faster until nurses burst into the room, ready to sedate him if needed. They probably had to, because Stephen was on the edge of hyperventilating.

“Young man, steady and slow breaths. Calm down, now.”

“But Donna, my sister, _where is she,_ she isn't—”

Stephen could no longer say anything due to the sedative running through his veins. As he sank into the drug-induced whirlpool of sleep, the echo of his sister’s last words haunted his eardrums: _Stephen, I can't breathe, Stephen! Help me!_

Several days passed. Stephen was eventually released from the hospital, and the three finally got home. Stephen stared at the front door. It still had Donna’s hand-drawn flowers on the bottom. His hands trembled, and he almost lost grip of the suitcase in his hand. Only his mother's firm hold kept him from totally collapsing.

On the day of the funeral, clouds covered the sun, but they weren't rain clouds, as so often portrayed in fiction. They simply stopped light from coming through, conjuring a hazy air that constricted Stephen’s breath. The Coastal Guards had heard her screams, but they had been too late. Her breathing had already stopped when they pulled her up beside Stephen. Logically, he knew he couldn't really fault them—they had tried their best considering the circumstances, after all. But logic faltered when faced with emotion, and Stephen’s emotions were currently in turmoil. He also knew his strange powers couldn't have saved her, but the guilt weighed him down throughout the service.

The time for the open-casket service came quickly. When it was Stephen’s turn, he solemnly stepped up to the coffin.

“Donna, I'm going to be a doctor. I'm going to save lives, I-I'm sorry, _I'm sorry,_ I couldn't save you, but from now on, I won't fail. _I won't fail._ Not anymore.”

He knew he was rambling, something he normally would never do, but his words were part of an heartfelt vow. He would swear on his life if needed—he would never let another person die on his watch. As he stepped back, his mother squeezed his hand, prompting him to look up at her. The silent sorrow in her eyes was the final blow to his carefully kept tear ducts, and the dam broke as he turned to bury his head in his mother's embrace.

 

—•—

 

When his mother remarried, she had kept her maiden name, so he was still Stephen Vincent Strange as opposed to following his new father’s surname, Blake. Somehow, the name seemed to carry a certain weight that always settled over him like a soft but thick blanket. It was comforting, but at the same time heavy, as if it was a duty of some sort. Unfortunately, it was also one of the many points that arose when his parents began to fight. 

The verbal battles kept getting longer and angrier. Stephen retreated to his room whenever voices went above normal levels, but even that had a limit. He could clearly hear his name being mentioned in the same sentence as ‘blame’. Those nights, he couldn't go to sleep as bad memories surfaced in his mind, threatening to submerge him in its depths. The feeling of suffocation was still quite alive in his mind. And, as all fights tended to do, the metaphorical volcano finally erupted.

His parents were arguing again on some kind of trivial matter, but the situation soon deteriorated with ugly names being thrown around. Stephen stuffed his ears with his finger, but when his father pulled a knife on his mother, his blood ran cold, and before he knew it he was standing in front of his mother.

“STOP!”

He didn't know what just happened, but his stepfather was on the ground, his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost. His mother had also gone white. Both stared at Stephen, who was looking down at his hands. Was that mist rising from them? Before he got a closer look, the mist dissipated, and his father got his voice back.

“I've tolerated you long enough with your freaky powers,” he growled. “Get out of here, leave, and never come back. Or I _will_ not hesitate to use this on you or your mom.” When Stephen hesitated, his father stepped forward menacingly. “Choose, boy!”

He couldn't. He couldn't do this to his mother, but there was no other choice. Stephen slowly backed out of the house, hands in the air as he met his mother’s eyes for one final time. Stephen's eyes were grey-blue, a mixture of his birth parents’ colors, and reflected the dawn sky as his mother liked to say. His mother's were steely grey, a perfect portrayal of strength and determination. They had the same hair color; dark black hair with a dash of white on each side of their ears. Just looking at those similarities made his heart ache, so Stephen tore his eyes away from his mother's face and stepped away from the door.

“Bye, mom. I'll be back, I swear.”

With his stepfather shouting _he damn won't show up or he'll be sorry,_ Stephen closed the door of his beloved home for the last time. That was when the gravity of what had happened hit him and he was suddenly desperate to escape, get away from this town, away from memories and suffocating air and _the feeling of sinking down into the deep, deep sea—_

No. He was alone now, he had to focus on staying alive. Stephen dug out the wad of cash he had taken out of his stash of emergency funds; there were about sixty, seventy dollars, which was several times more than he had expected. As he put the money back into his pocket, he was hit with the realization that he had absolutely no idea how to survive alone. Should he take a bus? A cab? What about sleeping arrangements? What would happen to school? Questions swirled around in his mind as he pondered what to do. He was so deep in his thoughts that he almost jumped out of his skin when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Little one, are you lost?”

Stephen looked up to see a woman in a black dress. She was beautiful, but in an ethereal sense; no human on earth could look _that_ way. Mesmerised by the image the woman projected, Stephen nodded without thinking when she offered her place for the night, following her to the edge of the forest without questioning her once.

The house looked cozy enough, with an old-fashioned fireplace lighting up the inside. Stephen sat down on the plushy armchair the woman offered. The air was a bit stuffy, what with the curtains all drawn and the windows closed, but Stephen paid no attention to the details as he reclined in the comfy seat.

“Wait there, dear, I'll bring you some soup.”

Her eyes briefly glinted red in the dark before she turned around, heading to the kitchen. Stephen’s eyes went wide, and he cautiously got up from his seat, inching closer to the front door just in case he had to run. He tried his best to stay quiet, but as he moved forward another inch, the floorboards creaked, and he froze in his steps as the woman whirled around.

She had _fangs_ , fangs several inches long that glinted in the moonlight. When her hair burst into flames, Stephen let out a scream as he ran from the house, bolting into the woods as fast as he could. The laugh of the woman—no, vampire—followed him as he blindly picked his way through the foliage. She was right behind him as he desperately searched for an escape route; her claws raked across his arm at one point, but he managed to get out of her clutch. However, the forest soon came to an end, and he skidded to a halt next to a fence separating him from the highway. The vampire slowly advanced, seemingly savoring the scent of fear her prey was emitting.

“Ooh, you smell of Titan, little one. The trace is faint, but it exists. Such a tasty combination!”

Stephen had no idea what she was talking about, but he understood the last four words. He had to run or risk being eaten. Taking careful steps backward, he was backed up against the fence—but it was an old one, considering the state of the net. There were several holes in the steel webbing, and he dived through one, narrowly missing being cut by a random wire sticking out. Thankfully the hole was small, so the vampire had a hard time getting her body and donkey leg through it. While she struggled with the fence, Stephen looked northeast; there were two tunnels which cars were racing through; Caldecott Tunnel. But there was something else, a cement wall between the two bigger ones with a door attached to it. Had that been there before? Getting the bright idea to hide there, Stephen started to jog towards the middle.

"Somebody, anybody, please, _please_ —!"

No longer having the strength to run, Stephen stumbled across the highway; somehow, the few cars on the road all swerved away from him like magic. The vampire behind him was getting ever closer so that he could almost hear her salivating over the prospect of fresh blood. Finally, his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. There was the right up ahead, so close that he could almost see two people standing guard in front of it. Tears slipped past his eyelids as he waited for the bite to happen. He was so, so close to safety…

Not a moment too soon, the heavens opened. A beam of pure, blinding light shot out of the sky, directly hitting the surprised monster behind him. After a very short and pained scream, the vampire's body crumbled to dust, the remains blowing away in the wind. The light then turned to shine on Stephen; it sent newfound energy coursing through his limbs, and Stephen staggered up, heading to the entrance as if it was magnetic. The two guards drew their swords and advanced, seemingly wary of the scrawny kid with no  means of self-defence whatsoever. Stephen took two more steps, and the brief adrenaline the light had provided disappeared as the sky turned dark again. When he met the ground and stayed there, the guards finally ran to his side, helping him up and asking questions that mostly went over his head. Fatigue overcame his body, and he only heard one word before he blacked out:

_“Stephen?”_

 

—•—

 

 _Blink_. Stephen stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Was he in the woman's house? Then, he remembered the fangs, his escape, the strange light, and registered a hand on his head. He turned his head to see a familiar but unexpected face.

_“Christine!”_

The girl in question removed her hand when she heard his voice. Her hair was disheveled, as if she'd run a long way. “You were the last person I was expecting to see here.”

Stephen shook his head. “Wha—Christine, I don't understand, what is this place? Where am I? Why are you here?”

Christine fondly swept his hair from his forehead. “This is Camp Jupiter, the only safe haven for demigods and legacies, like you and me. I thought Lupa told everyone…” She faltered when Stephen gave her a blank look. When her questions about the Wolf House drew even more questions, she let out a sigh and started to explain; Stephen was told the five-minute version of the Legion’s history and his identity. Apparently gods were real. Gods, as in real Roman gods, not the big ‘G’ God. They had children with mortals, and the half-god, half-mortal children called demigods were trained in the Legion. Christine was descended from Aesculapius, the god of medicine.

“Wait, what do you mean, descended? So your parents are both mortal?” Stephen frowned. Christine nodded.

“My mom was a daughter of Aesculapius. There are legacies like me in this camp, kids who are descendants of demigods. Though I have to say, you're taking this awfully well. I almost had an heart attack when I first heard this story.”

“I had suspicions,” Stephen muttered, “I could see things nobody seemed to notice. I was able to shape objects from nothing. And—” he faltered, hesitant to mention his other ability. It was his most closely guarded secret, one that he had never told anybody except his sister. But Christine was a friend, probably the only one here that he could trust as of now. If he told her maybe he could determine if he was a demigod or a legacy—and hopefully his godly parent or ancestor.

“I-I can heal people by touching them and concentrating. I've only tried that a few times, though.”

“And the light.” Christine reminded him. “That was you, wasn't it?”

“I don't know?” He disliked the feeling of _not knowing_ , but this whole god business was quite overwhelming for him to decide what was his doing or not. “I've never done something like that before, so it might not be me.”

“Still…” Christine mused. “Healing is an innate trait of the children of Apollo and Aesculapius. You really don't know until your godly relative claims you, but I think it's safe to hazard that you're one of theirs.”

 Stephen's reply was cut off by the sound of a door creaking open. A boy in a purple cape strode in, radiating the air of a powerful individual. Christine snapped to attendance.

 “Praetor.”

The boy nodded. “Christine. I take it that this is the new recruit?” When Christine said yes, he allowed a small smile to appear on his face. “Good. Take him to the augur and we'll assign him a cohort at evening muster if he approves.”

 As soon as the praetor left the room, Stephen bombarded Christine with questions about the hierarchy in the camp and its structure. When they got to the part about cohorts, he eagerly asked her if he could choose which one to be part of, and if he could be in hers. Christine answered with a grimace.

 “Well… You wouldn't want to be in the same cohort as me. We're the worst one that you could be a part of. Jason—our Centurion—has been trying hard to restore our honor, but yeah. The Fifth is the last place you want to be. Do you have a letter of recommendation?”

 “A what?”

“Figured.” Christine sighed. “If you have a veteran relative, or if your family has been sending kids to camp, you usually have something to prove your worth to the Legion. And considering the fact that you haven't even met Lupa, Octavian will be a right little a-hole about this…”

After Stephen got his bearings, Christine helped him up from the bed and into the main camp. The place looked like some sort of resort that also happened to be dealing in weaponry. Barracks had kids chilling out on the porch; shops along the road sold armor, pastries, weapons, chariot equipment and many, many more. Stephen was enthralled by the view as he followed Christine to the main gates.

Two roads presented themselves to Stephen: one led to the temples, and the other led to a city—a replica of Ancient Rome. The city was the exact opposite of Camp Jupiter: colorful, dynamic, relaxed. Stephen wondered about the citizens. Were they all demigods? Would he be able to live there someday?

When they got to the Temple Hill, Stephen was momentarily awestruck. There were a _lot_ of temples, and when he said a lot, he meant at least twenty: small and big, tall and short, tiny altars and massive domes. It looked like a collection that was organised by a toddler  with no sense of order. The red one with decorations of human skulls—the Temple of Mars Ultor, _the Avenger_ —definitely creeped him out. Christine’s explanation that he was the patron of Rome did little to alleviate the uneasy aura that radiated from the temple.

Christine pointed at the biggest temple up the hill with white columns supporting a massive roof. “That's the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus—”

“Jupiter, the best and the greatest?”

“Right,” she seemed surprised as Stephen was, but quickly regained her posture. “That must be your innate demigod abilities kicking in. Reading Latin—that's what your brain is hardwired to do.”

“Must be handy for lawyers and doctors,” Stephen dryly remarked. Christine cracked a smile that quickly disappeared as they reached the dome. It was even more impressive up close with the marble floors and fancy latin letters engraved in the stone. As their footsteps echoed on the stairs, a skinny boy with straw-coloured hair whirled around from where he was standing at the top, holding a teddy bear in one hand and a sacrificial knife in the other. He had this look in his eyes that radiated power, but with insanity hidden underneath. Stephen immediately pinpointed him as a schemer, and a dangerous one for sure.

“A recruit! Well, well, well. And you've come to consult me, I assume?” The boy strode down from the dais like he owned the place. Next to Stephen, Christine winced but nodded. Stephen stepped forward to meet the blonde boy, who when on the same floor level was roughly the same height as him. The boy narrowed his eyes at that.

“Hmm. So, no credentials? Parental relations? Just a random one?”

“Octavian, will you please just get on with the auguries?” Before Stephen could say anything, Christine intervened with a strained voice. Octavian turned to look at her, head tilted to one side as if he was genuinely curious about her actions.

“Christine, I haven't seen you this excited about a new recruit. Perhaps you fancy—”

Okay, this was getting nowhere. Stephen coughed, drawing attention from the two people. When he asked how his auguries were going to be read, Octavian shook the teddy bear in his hand in response, motioning them to climb up to the dais. The two followed him up, where a pile of ripped open animal plushies made up a small hill.

“You cut up animal dolls,” Stephen said in a flat voice. Octavian grinned, which did little to lessen the maniacal image Stephen got from him.

“Once, in the old times, we read the entrails of animals—pigs, chickens and so on. But now we use these. Much more clean. If I may?”

Octavian turned to the altar, raising the knife, and Stephen suddenly had a fleeting vision of the same hands _holding a bow and arrow, the arrow exploding into sharp pieces that ripped through his hands, severing nerves and muscle—_

“Stephen?”

Christine’s worried voice pulled him out of his trance. Both Christine and Octavian were looking at him in a strange way, Christine more concerned while Octavian, seemingly interested. Stephen shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He had a feeling that what he just saw was something he mustn't share, so he feigned dizziness. Octavian gave a suspicious glance at him, but he tore the teddy bear open with his knife and muttered some words over the stuffing, then turned back to smile at them.

“The auguries indicate that he can join the legion. Congratulations, Stephen. Tell our praetors that I approve, Christine.”

As Octavian set down the knife, Stephen spied three stripes on his arm under a harp;  most possibly the mark of Apollo. Stephen sincerely hoped that he didn't share his godly ancestry with this particular prick, but he smiled and said his thanks to the augur. As they retreated from the temple, he asked Christine about who Octavian exactly was.

“He’s a legacy of Apollo. Family’s been sending kids to camp for over a century. That's how he got to be an augur despite his short time here; connections and well-placed words. And friends bought through clever manipulation.”

“That sounds exactly like a power-hungry politician. If he's a descendant of Apollo I definitely wish I could be a son of Aesculapius; just thinking of being half-brothers with that… snake.”

The conversation took a turn as Stephen remembered the part about serving the legion and the small city he had seen earlier. Christine summed the information up in clear points. The city was where retired legionnaires went if they chose to do so; a safe haven for those who had to risk their lives going into the mortal world. As for the ‘serving the legion’ part, Stephen had some more questions.

“So, you stay ten years at camp, then you're free to go. What if I want to contact someone on the outside? What should I do?”

“Well, you're supposed to be on a quest to go outside, and to lead a quest you have to be a centurion at the minimum. And to become a centurion, you have to serve at least five years. So…”

Stephen's heart sank. Great. His mother would probably think him as dead by that point. Christine gently put a hand on his shoulder as if she sensed his pain.

“Stephen, what exactly happened to you? How did you end up being chased by an _empousa_? You were doing fine the last time I saw you.”

Stephen started to answer, but memories of his mother's face popped up beside his stepfather’s one, and his throat constricted, rendering him unable to talk. Christine seemed to notice his sudden inability to form words and shook her head, saying that if he didn't want to, it was all right with her. Stephen swallowed, nodded, and asked her about the other guy she was with at the tunnel.

“Karl? He's probably at the gladiator zone right now. We're not that close, just… sentry duty. He's been here for like at least two years. Son of Bellona—the goddess of war. Some of the kids are scared of him after they faced him in gladiator matches. Oh—” she waved to a small group at the end of the road, were two kids in purple cloaks were talking to purple ghosts. “That's my cue to go. See you at evening muster!” She led him to some other Roman kids that directed him back to where he had woke up. He was to wait there until he was to be introduced to the legion.

Evening soon came, and Stephen was guided to one side of the formation by the guards. He could see the cohorts forming ranks—two hundred kids standing at attention, all wearing armor that shined like it was new. They looked like teenaged soldiers, which half-freaked him out before he remembered that they were being trained to fight and win against monsters like the _empousa_ he had vaporized and instantly understood. They _were_ soldiers. He spied Christine standing behind a blonde boy at the very front of the lines and gave her a quick wink, which she replicated with a small smile.

At the front, two dudes with purple capes were on winged horses— _pegasi,_ his brain supplied. Seeing the mythical horses in person hit him with a sense of reality that _this was real, this was all real, he was in a world of gods and legends._ The guy on the left, the one who had visited Stephen at his bedside, spurred his pegasus forward and addressed the legion.

“Romans! We have a new recruit today. Stephen Strange, ancestry undetermined, has arrived seeking to join the legion. Octavian, what do the auguries say?”

“The auguries are in favour. He is qualified to serve!” Octavian announced as he stepped up from his place. He wasn't a centurion, seeing as he lacked the plumed helmet the others were wearing, but he was treated on the same level as one. The campers shouted out _“Ave!”_ as one.

The kids at the head of each group—probably the centurions—stepped forward at the praetor’s beckon. The one from the second column, probably the oldest guessing from the air around her, turned to face him and asked if he had any credentials or letters of reference. Stephen shook his head no. Seeing that, the praetor on the right raised his voice.

“Will any full legionnaire stand for Stephen Strange?”

A beat of silence, then—

“I'll stand for him.”

Two voices sounded at the same time. Both were from the fifth, and as Stephen craned his neck to see who had spoken, a boy stepped forward from the line. He had the look of an warrior, and Stephen dimly recognized him as one of the guards who had saved him at the tunnel entrance. The other guy—the blond boy standing in front of Christine—gave the other, Karl, a pat on the back as he stepped back. Kids from the other cohorts started muttering, some glancing at the boy like they were afraid of him. The right-side praetor raised an eyebrow, but he exchanged looks with his partner and addressed the Fifth Cohort.

“Karl Mordo, you may stand for the recruit. Does your cohort accept him?”

Christine was the first to pound her shield against the ground, closely followed by the blond boy and the other kids in the cohort. The girl at the front of the fifth said that her cohort accepts the recruit after the pounding ended. The right-side praetor nodded at that.

“Congratulations, Stephen Strange: You stand on _probatio,_ and in a year, or as soon as you perform an act of valor, you'll become a full member of the Legion. Serve Rome, obey the rules of the legion, and defend the camp with honour. _Senatus Populusque Romanus!_ ”

The entire legion echoed his last sentence. The praetor on the left continued his partner’s speech.

“We have deathball games today, so all participants be ready for the game. Centurions, you and your troops have one hour for dinner. We will meet again at the Field of Mars. Good Fortune to all!”

Kids cheered as they broke ranks and headed to what Stephen guessed was the dining room. A guard handed a nameplate on a cord with the word _probatio_ on it to Stephen. He put it on, then jogged to the Fifth Cohort, where Christine was waiting for him with the blond guy and the boy named Karl.

“Hey,” he shot a quick smile at Christine and turned to Karl. “Um, thanks for standing for me. What exactly does that mean, though? Standing for me?”

“Standing for you? It means that I guarantee your good behavior and teach you the rules around here. And if you do something wrong, get killed along with you.”

Karl was all serious. Stephen hoped the part about getting killed was a joke, but the other two nodded in tandem. Christine clapped her hands together as if she had forgotten something.

“Um, right. Introductions. Stephen, this is Jason Grace. He's our other centurion. Jason, Stephen.”

Jason stretched out a hand for him to shake. He had an easygoing smile on his face, and though he couldn't have been more than thirteen, seven stripes were on his arms under a lightning bolt. After they shook hands, an uncomfortable silence passed between them.

“So, I think dinner sounds good?” Stephen cautiously asked, trying to break the ice.

“Wait till you see the mess hall. I love Roman dining.” Christine grinned at him, and the somewhat awkward mood broke as Jason chimed in, slinging an arm around Stephen's shoulders. The four headed to the mess hall chatting as if they were old friends. Stephen felt both sad and excited at the same time: a new life was about to start, but his past still clung to him like a shadow. But for now, he decided, now was the time to focus on new relationships and friends. If he was going to spend the next ten years here he might as well get used to his surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big cookies to @whizzelda on correctly guessing Stephen's parentage!(It's also the reason I held off my reply until this update; I didn't want to spoil the fun).


	3. TONY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's first quest, and on making new friends.

Three years. That's how much time had passed between his arrival here and today. Of course, technically it was two years and ten months, but that wasn't the point. Tony was steadily getting stir-crazy, especially after the summer’s events which included the discovery and subsequent destruction of the Labyrinth. The only reminder he had regarding the legendary Daedalus was a small automaton the size of his fist; he had received the piece when the dude was still Quirinus the swordsman. Tony hadn’t been able to best the man with his considerably lacking swordsfighting skills, but when Quirinus walked in on him fixing one of his prototypes he’d been impressed with Tony’s skills and gave him the automaton as a gift, saying that perhaps he could upgrade the blasted thing. Finding out the real identity of the man had been quite a shock to him—he’d even named the automaton in honor of Daedalus after the revelation. Del short for Delta, Daedalus’ symbol, was currently tugging at his sleeve with a growing impati—oh. He dimly registered that someone was trying to talk to him and pulled himself out of his reverie. Pepper was there to tell him that Chiron wanted to see him right now. As in, RIGHT NOW. Her glare followed him all the way to the Big House like a persistent spirit.

Chiron was waiting for him at the porch. He had that smile that was both knowing and sad and was that a hint of pride? He was wondering where that last thought came from when Chiron spoke.

“There’s a visitor for you, Tony.”

His heart shuttered. Surely it wasn’t his mother? She couldn’t possibly know he was here. As far as the outside world knew, he was still missing—Chiron had received a call from Stane asking about Tony. As promised, the centaur told the man Tony was not at the camp, and soon after that talk Tony’s disappearance had made the front page. Tony had fumed when he got the paper, Stane’s face plastered across it faking concern with his mother in the background, quietly grieving another loss in her life. This whole thing was totally unfair to her; he’d half-hoped that Hephaestus would swing by to tell her of his relative well-being, but with the war brewing and him being in a delicate situation had forced him to give up that notion before he even started wishing. He was going to ask Chiron when the centaur held up a hand, silencing him.

“You’ll see when you go in there. He’s asked me to let you find out by yourself.”

So it was a dude. Relief spread through his limbs, and he almost melted into a puddle there and then. Though what kind of man would want to meet him was another question. Was it god or man or something entirely else? Heart hammering, he opened the door to the rec room.

A man was sitting at the table, absently fiddling with a miniature metallic bird. It twittered in his big hands, seemingly greeting its creator. Under the man’s ministrations, it changed its form into a butterfly, a ladybug, a beetle and finally a puppy, which ran laps around the man’s hand before settling in his palm. It was clear from that little show who the man was.

“Father?” He tried not to sound too incredulous, but the surprise was there. His father nodded at him and grunted out a greeting. He fixed his eyes on Tony’s jacket—exactly where his revolver was stored. X-Ray vision must be a godly thing, because he expectantly held out his hand. Tony gave him the weapon, Hephaestus running a critical eye over it.

“I see you've been making good use out of it.”

“Considering the amount of monsters that have been invading camp lately, I’m not surprised.”

The dry answer was out of his mouth before he knew it. Hephaestus just lifted a misshapen eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by his son’s sardonic reply. He just returned the revolver and clasped his hands under his chin. Looking into his father’s eyes, he found that fire was burning in the irises—warm fire that made him remember the forge and his cabin, which was both comforting and invigorating. He knew that this wasn’t just a social call, though, so he sat down across his father and waited for him to speak.

“Tony.” His voice was rough, like raw metal waiting to be shaped into weaponry. “You’ve grown into a fine man.”

“Uh. Thank… you? Father?”

Hephaestu-his dad grunted. “You probably know I’m not here for pleasantries.” Blunt and straight to the point; expectable, considering the circumstances. “I've been sensing disturbances in the Junkyard. Presences that do not belong there. They evade my automatons, and the few I activated myself have been found smashed up. The monster responsible left behind one small evidence—a single strand of fur.”

Hephaestus handed over the offending piece of evidence. Tony picked up the hair; he was sure that he’d seen it somewhere, but couldn’t quite place his finger on its origin. He opted to question what was on his mind.

“I thought that the place was dangerous? I heard that the girl on the quest to find Artemis — what was her name again? — was killed there. Are you sure you want me to go?”

“This is also a quest. A solo quest, or take one of your siblings with you; you are my son, so the automatons there can be controlled, unlike the five last year. You will have an advantage there, but the road to the Junkyard _will_ be perilous.”

The warning only served to make Tony’s blood sing as he recognized a challenge, or what he realized was a chance to get out of camp. _Finally_. Even if he didn’t want to go—which was a total lie—this was his time. He could finally prove himself, and he was not about to turn down that chance.

“Okay, I'm sold. So what do I do? What am I supposed to go up against?”

“That remains to be seen. Consult your Oracle. _Do not fail._ ”

On that very encouraging note, his father dissipated into thin air. Tony was left staring at the empty space that had once held a god. Not the way he wanted to have his first meeting with his father, but well. With the war brewing he couldn’t afford to be picky. As he exited the room, he ran straight into both Chiron and surprisingly, Mr. D.

“So? What did he want with you, boy?”

Mr. D was as pleasant as always. Ignoring the man, Tony turned to Chiron. He would probably know something about this mysterious beast, having trained heroes for at least two millennia. He relayed the information Hephaestus gave him and presented the fur to the centaur. There was a single beat of silence, but surprisingly, it was Mr. D that spoke out.

“I know this beast. The Odontotyrannos, or _tooth-tyrant_ as described by the locals back then. It is said to have three horns and exceed the size of a fully grown elephant.”

Great. Just what he needed. A beast the size of an elephant. Probably has all the grace of a misshapen bear and the gait of a drunk satyr. But still,

“How did you even know that?”

“The idiot that tried to kill it when it first appeared had the oh-so- _brilliant_ idea to sacrifice a lamb in my honor while fighting. I had the _pleasure_ of watching them get slaughtered and at the end I had to intervene before they were all killed off.”

Mr. D soon left the premises, muttering about idiot heroes and brainless tactics. As he left, Chiron turned to Tony, his face grave.

“You shall have to consult the Oracle.”

Well. It _was_ a must, since both his father and Chiron insisted on it, but Tony still had a (in his opinion, anyway) healthy trepidation of the mummified girl in the attic. But he couldn’t keep avoiding the inevitable, so he trudged up the steps of the Big House and entered the attic. The place was musty, dark, and smelled of mothballs and cobweb—just like a dead person’s lair. A shiver made its way up his back. In the middle was a mummy, decorated with colorful beads and gaudy cloth. Resolutely avoiding her eye sockets, Tony took a deep breath.

“How can I avenge my father and kill the Odontotyrannos?”

Green mist poured out from the mummy's mouth. He'd seen this last year, when the Hunters came looking for Artemis, but it was still unnerving. At least he didn't need to carry the corpse this time like Percy had to. He shuddered at the memory as the Oracle began to speak.

_You shall go west to the graveyard of the forge,_

_Foes become friends, different but similar,_

_A life for a life, entwined by fate,_

_The bullslayer’s legacy triumphs in vengeance,_

_And friend becomes foe, forever lost._

With her part said, the mummy once more fell silent. Shaken, Tony backed away from her and scrambled down the ladder. _So_ that _was the Oracle,_ he thought. Definitely creepy.

“So?”

Chiron was waiting for him downstairs. Tony started to relate what he had heard, thought about it for a bit, and gave him four of the six lines he had heard. For some reason, the second and third lines seemed too personal, and Chiron definitely didn’t have to know about that. The wise centaur frowned, but wordlessly heard him out.

“It seems like your prophecy is quite straightforward. You know what to do, Tony: I wish you luck. Argus will take you out of camp when you are ready.”

After he parted ways with the centaur, the first person he visited was finishing up a training session. Her blond hair bounced in a ponytail as she exited the arena, having trounced her opponent from Cabin Five. Tony leaned against the gate, a smile on his face as he greeted his first and best friend at camp.

“Pep! Great fight there.”

“Tony!”

Tony clapped a hand on her back as they embraced. Pepper was all smiles as she re-tied her hair—Tony could see her defeated opponent over her back, muttering to himself as he trudged out of the arena. He shot a big grin at her, successfully covering up his worries.

“So what brings you here?”

At her prompt, he launched into a long, winded explanation of the events that had just happened. Brief flashes of surprise, shock and a bit of something that seemed like pride appeared in Pepper’s eyes as she patiently heard out Tony’s ramblings.

“So you’re leaving?’

“Um, yeah. I just… I just wanted to say, um. Goodbye? Oh, do I get a kiss for luck?”

Pepper chuckled; they once tried out the whole dating thing before both parties quickly agreed that they were too brother-and-sisterlike to consider each other as a romantic partner. Instead of the suggested kiss, she gave Tony a fond smile and ruffled his hair, earning a ‘hey!’ as he tried to rearrange his mussed-up hair. Then she hugged him once more, whispering ‘please come back safe’ in his ears so that only he could hear it. There was the faint undercurrent of worry in her words; Tony could almost see it, but chose not to comment on it as he replied that he would try his best. A demigod’s journey tended to be very dangerous. Particularly when traveling alone without backup when, inevitably, shit hits the fan.

After parting ways with Pepper, Tony immediately began to walk. Before he left, there was one small thing he had to take care of. Tony headed to his cabin; at this time of the day, his cabinmates were likely to be working or training. It wasn’t the perfect place to have a private conversation, but the alternative was the woods or somewhere in the Big House, and neither options were better than his current position. Heaving a sigh, Tony turned on the miniature water fountain in the corner, adjusting it so that a rainbow appeared. He fished out a drachma from his pocket and threw it into the shimmering apparition.

“O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, show me Maria Stark at the Stark Malibu mansion.”

For a second, his mind whirled. Was this the right choice to make? Should he contact her now, while his future was unclear and he was quite possibly facing death? But the milk was already spilt, and the familiar layout of his home came into focus as the Iris Message went through. His mother was in clear view, as was Jarvis, his father’s butler, whose back was turned as he tidied up the shattered remains of a china cup. Her eyes widened when they alighted on Tony’s (probably) disembodied face floating in who-knows-where. His mother, bless her soul, had enough sense to send Jarvis out before she whirled around to properly look at Tony, worry and relief and all those emotions dancing on her face.

“Tony?” Her voice was trembling with disbelief and a tiny, tiny bit of hope and Tony desperately wanted to hold her with his arms—he was probably taller than she was now—but he refrained from actually trying to do so, as it would break the connection. Instead, he gave her a reassuring smile, or at least what he thought would be reassuring, and quietly said ‘mother’.

His mother fainted.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Dammit.

After a brief moment of panic, Tony finally got his mother to wake up and talk to him. Her eyes shoe with unshed tears, but she soon gathered herself and demanded answers. Answers which Tony was only happy to provide.

“He tried to kill me, mom. Obadiah—he sent monster pilots with me on my way to the camp.”

“What? That can’t… Why would he do that?”

Tony shook his head. “My guess is that he has something to do with the war brewing, but we’ll never know. Right now—”

“ _War?_ Tony, dear, what’s happening? Are you safe? _Will_ you be safe?”

‘Will’ was a subjective word, he thought while giving her his best smile and murmured reassurances that it was going to be alright, that he was doing okay. After he ended the connection, all he could do was breathe as the full force of realization hit him in giant waves. He just met his father, called his mother after letting her believe that he had been dead for all those years, and accepted a solo quest. He may or may not be hyperventilating. But as DUM-E buzzed up next to him and nudged his hand he let out a small, hysterical laugh. He _did_ just promise his mother that it was going to be alright, didn’t he? For that to happen, he should first believe in himself. Deep breaths… Everything was under control.

—•—

Everything was definitely _not_ under control.

The quest started out okay. Argus took him out of camp and parted ways with him at the Port Authority Bus Terminal; it would have been perfect if he could have taken to the skies but 1) he was still very noticeable and 2) he wasn’t that well acquainted with the pegasi, so flying was not an option. That left land travel, and he didn’t have a driver’s license. Those limitations left him with the choice to literally go on foot until he could hitchhike or something, or to take the Greyhound as far as he could.

He should have known that nothing would go smoothly in a demigod’s attempt to cross the continent all by himself. The ride to Baltimore had gone without a hitch, and having been on edge for three hours he thought that maybe, just maybe he could make it to Pittsburgh. But barely two hours had passed after he got on the second Greyhound, and Tony was facing no less than five monsters that were eyeing him like he was their next meal. Well, at least they seemed like monsters; the Mist was working to his disadvantage, and he couldn’t see their true form.

They had him cornered at the front of the bus; positioned just so that they seemed to be his friends, not potential predators. Tony fingered Poikílos as his eyes frantically searched for an escape route. He’d kept his profile low by wearing a mask and a baseball hat, but if he made a dramatic exit there was the chance that he would make it to the newspaper and Obadiah would notice that the kid he thought was gone was actually very much alive. He couldn’t risk that right now, and there were civilians on the bus; their lives hung in the balance, too.

Wait.

Come to think of it, it might be his ticket to freedom. Monsters weren’t able to hurt mortals directly, and his companion, who was forged with the strongest metal he could lay his hands on, was impervious to most attacks. Tony bent over, pretending to have a stomachache while whispering to the mini bot cuddled in his hand.

“Dummy, now’s the time for you to shine. You can do this, alright?”

DUM-E chirped happily and left his palm. Tony watched as the tiny bot silently flew over their adversaries, sprinkling a fine powder of Celestial Bronze over the monsters. They soon disappeared into poofs of monster dust; DUM-E had puffed out a gas so that whatever was happening in the front was obscured from the back. All was fine and dandy until he turned his attention to the driver’s seat. Tony hadn’t noticed that the driver was a monster, but still—

“Shit, Dummy, not the driver!”

But the damage was done, and the bus spun out of control as other passengers screamed in terror. Tony desperately dived for the handle, seizing it and struggling to regain balance. After a close shave with the edge of the road, he managed to right it, screeching to a halt in the side lane. Thankfully there were no other cars around, so Tony seized his chance and ran from the bus, leaving the people inside confused and disoriented.

 

He was stranded in somewhere between Washington and Richmond to his knowledge; there was nothing but trees and general forests around him. Figuring that something would eventually come out if he kept walking south, Tony shrugged his backpack on and stated trudging along the forestation, DUM-E trailing behind like a drunken camouflaged butterfly. It was a lonely road, and although he knew being quiet was essential, the silence was almost suffocating. Maybe there really was nothing around here. Maybe he was lost here, with no hope of reaching civilization. The US was far too big for a boy to travel by foot. However, fortune had not yet deserted him. Ahead of him was a gas station, and — he couldn’t believe his luck — a single SUV parked there. Tony hurried on, tired feet making an effort to follow the orders his brain was making. Once he reached the car, he rapped on the driver’s side window, prompting the person inside to roll down the screen. He put on his best I-just-got-lost-in-this-big-and-dangerous-world-please-sir-pick-me-up look Pepper always said was almost cheating.

“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve been stranded here, and, and there was a crash out on the highway, a-and I’ve been stranded here and I’ve nowhere to go and—”

“Okay, slow down, kid. I can take you as far as Richmond — that’s where I was going, anyway — where I live, and you can probably get patched up if you ask nicely.”

“Thank you.” With a relieved smile that could light up entire buildings, Tony clambered into the back of the car, DUM-E hiding in his pocket. After asking where Tony was headed, the man, who introduced himself as a Mr. Rhodes, hummed that he reminded him of his son, James. They kept an amicable stream of dialogue running

“Where’re you from, kid? I have no idea what happened out there, but you’re banged up pretty bad.”

“…Oh.”

He hadn’t had the time to look at his wounds; there was a gash on his arm, warm blood dripping down and seeping through his clothes, turning them a dark red. Small cuts peppered his face, which started to throb the second he got a good look at them.

“Better head to the hospital before—”

“NO!”

It was a reflex, but the hospital wasn’t an option. Not while Obie could reach him, not while he could track a peculiar car accident and see a boy who was supposed to be buried six feet under three years ago. At Tony’s vehement refusal, Rhodes stared at him and shrugged, trying to placate him.

They pulled up against a small but cozy house; Rhodes had to half-carry Tony, whose energy had somehow evaporated, and his legs had turned to jelly along the road. Once they got to the front door, his weight was transferred to Rhodes’s son, who grinned and stuck his hand out. Tony grabbed it, smile turning into a wince as it jostled his wound; at once, James’s face grew serious, dragging Tony into the house and sitting him on the couch.

And so Tony learned about James while getting patched up; he was in MIT, but had returned home for his mother’s birthday (which coincidentally overlapped with Columbus Day that year); his heart clenched at the thought of the school. If everything had gone well all those years ago, he might have been at MIT himself with James. They might even have been friends…

“What the hell happened to you, anyway?”

James’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. Trying to shake his head — but failing, as James was administering bandages on his face — Tony mumbled that it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a mishap that could be brushed under the rug. Sensing that he didn’t want to elaborate, James steered the conversation towards engineering and stuff; stuff that Tony could relate to.

“You know, I was going to enter MIT two years ago.”

James snorted, clearly not believing him. Tony wisely shut up after that, neglecting to mention the fact that he had actually received a letter from the president giving him permission to enter the university early. After his face was covered in a myriad of colorful bandages, James’s mother called out to them to have dinner. Following James to the dining room, Tony shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that it’d been only a day since he started out on his journey. It seemed like an eternity had passed between then and now.

After being served a generous amount of food that comfortably settled in his stomach, Tony tried to thank them, but Mrs. Rhodes waved him off. Instead, he was offered a spare mattress and a bear-sized hug that he was certain he didn’t deserve. James let him crash in his room, stretching out on his bed like a lazy predator.

“Hey.”

Just as he was about to sleep, James spoke up, Prompting Tony to look at him. The other boy was flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as if there was something interesting on there.

“Are you Tony Stark?”

Well.

Tony shot up from where he was lying, ready to bolt when James held up a hand, gesturing at him to calm down.

“I wasn’t going to do anything; I was just curious, Tony. So you really are…?”

Letting out a sigh, Tony sank down on his mattress, nodding his head.

“I don’t suppose I can ask you to keep quiet?”

James shook his head. “I was going to even if you hadn’t asked.” At Tony’s surprised stare, he shrugged and grinned. “Guessed that much from your reaction, and, dude. If somebody stays hidden for several years, there’s got to be a reason why. I’m not _stupid.”_

Tony let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Thank you,” he murmured, lying down once more, but this time completely relaxing. Honestly, it was good to have a… friend? Could he call James a friend? Next to Pepper and his cabinmates, he practically had nobody he could call a friend(and his cabinmates were his half-siblings, so it didn’t count), so he wasn’t sure if this was an acceptable boundary for ‘friendship’. Gently knocking on the sided of James’s bed, he started to ask if it was okay if they could be friends—but the door swung open at the same time, the pale moonlight illuminating a gigantic shadow that definitely wasn’t either of James’s parents.

“Shit!”

He was out of the bed in an instant; drawing Poikílos from his coat pocket, aiming it with the precision he learned from the archers back at camp. But he was too late; the monster had awkwardly shoved itself into the room, snatching up James and proceeding to choke him. The monster had no head; instead, there was a gigantic face on its body, and a metal tin can was teetering on its shoulders, acting as a poorly made head.

“Please be calm,” it said, far too calm for somebody who was three seconds away from committing homicide. “I would hate to kill the mortals before I eventually have to kill you.”

“Tony—what—” Even while struggling to breathe, James was worrying about Tony, a kid he barely knew, a kid he had no ties to.

It made the blood in his veins _burn._

“Wait!” Tony racked his brain. He’d taken monster lessons, he knew what these were, he _knew_ them. “You-you’re a Blemmyae, aren’t you?”

“Right-o,” the monster hummed, a pleased smile twisting its mouth. “My name is Ryan.”

A monster named Ryan. Right. Okay. He can roll with that.

“Now, you want me, not James over there, don’t you? I’m the tastier one. You don’t want a mortal, you want a demigod. So how about putting him down and coming over here?”

Before Ryan could say “Oh”, his body was crumbling, turning into ash. Only the head was left behind—a grisly spoil of battle.

“Tony, just _what the fuck_ was that,” James gasped, and the world came slamming down on him. Vaguely remembering that he was holding a gun in his hand and a knife in his other, Tony hastily shoved the knife back in its sheath and the gun in its holster.

“So. Um. How much did you comprehend?”

—•—

“Mom and Dad can sleep through earthquakes. At least, they slept through a storm once. So it’s just you and me.”

They’d moved to the kitchen, the low light bathing their pale faces. _Now, explain,_ said the look in James’s eyes, his hands still massaging his neck where he had been held. Tony flinched, but soon straightened up and looked at him square in the eyes.

‘How much do you know about Greek Mythology?”

“Greek what?” James shook his head. “This isn’t the time—”

“This is exactly the time for this explanation,” Tony pressed on. “James, the myths are real. I shouldn’t be telling you this, one of the Big Three will probably blast my ass across the continent for divulging the secret to someone other than those directly affected, but yeah, those things, things that you thought were only fairy tales? They’re real. Gods and all that shit.”

James just stared, unimpressed by Tony’s outburst.

“This isn’t going down well, is it?” Tony sighed, nervously twisting his hands. James shook his head, a half-hearted smile making its way up his face.

“Well, if gods are real, and myths are real, then what are you?”

“I’m… I’m a demigod. Half-god, half-human.”

“…So,” James eventually said, “if this was a normal situation, I wouldn’t have believed you, but something resembling the Headless Horsemen tried to choke me, you killed it with a bronze knife, and it turned into dust.”

He clapped a hand on Tony’s back. “Wanna have a drink?”

After several glasses of James’s secret stash of Scotch, they were both comfortably drunk and at peace with the world. Leaning on his shoulder, Tony giggled as James made vrooming noises like airplane takeoffs.

“’m thinkin’ ’bout joinin’ the army,” James mumbled. “ROTC. Air Force.”

“You’d do great,” Tony slurred. “Flying. Rhodey-bee flying. Awesome.”

“And a monster-slaying friend.”

“We’re friends?” The words came out before Tony’s inebriated brain could put a filter between it and his mouth. James gave him a lopsided grin.

“Friends.”

 

Both woke up the next day with a pounding headache that was (In James’s case) somehow more painful than being throttled. James’s father shared knowing glances with his son while his wife shook her head, piling pancakes up on Tony’s plate.

As they parted, James gave Tony a slip of paper with his cell number written on it. _Call,_ his eyes said. Tony pocketed it with a smile.

“We aren’t supposed to call because it attracts monsters, but I’ll find a way.”

Hoisting his backpack up, Tony grinned to James(Rhodey, in his mind), waving as he got in Mr. Rhodes’s car. As they left the house and rolled up the road, the house getting smaller and smaller, he thought back to the little surprise hidden in James’s closet. He’d left Ryan’s head at James’s room instead of bringing it with him; he knew it was stupid, but he hoped that if he left a reminder of himself, maybe James would think of him even if he failed this quest and/or get killed. As a faint yell that sounded suspiciously like a annoyed James rang the neighborhood, the grin on his face got bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to any of the places mentioned in this story, so if there are any irregularities, please feel free to mention them.


End file.
